Fugitives
by Awinters25
Summary: Anders reflects on his new life as a fugitive and what it means for Hawke.


It was his fault. The destruction of the Chantry, the mage rebellion, the fact that he and the woman he loved were on the run from everyone in Thedas: the Chantry, the Seekers, the templars, _and_ the mages. If he had been smarter, stronger, he would have never let Lessa into his life. He would have never allowed their love to grow. But he wasn't smart or strong. He was a man with a tortured past and no future.

The fire crackled at his feet, chasing away the chill in the air. The heat from the flames could burn him and yet, it wouldn't be enough to rid himself of the heavy heart he carried. This was his fault. Lessa deserved more than days filled with trudging through mud, nights shivering in tattered blankets.

Anders had accepted his fate. The moment he had consigned himself to his desperate action against the Chantry, he knew that if he survived, if by some miracle he was allowed to live, there would be no going back to what he was before. He'd forever be a wanted man, someone whom others would look upon with disdain, with hate. He'd never wanted that for Hawke.

Anders' golden eyes gazed through the black night to the woman he loved. She was sleeping upon an old set of robes, a stolen blanket the only thing separating her from the autumn cold. Her short, choppy hair had grown out. It now lay in thick waves across the ground, leaves and other foliage embedded between the strands. She was no longer the free-spirited, hard-headed Hawke he'd first met. Now she was damaged. Broken. Her smile no longer reached her eyes. She rarely laughed. Lessa was practically a different person. He had made her that way.

A shiver took his body. Wrapping the old worn robes with the feather pauldrons tighter around his body, he caught sight of the abysmal amount of food they'd managed to scrape together. It had been months since they'd had a real meal. Lessa always split their meals equally, but Anders had taken to eating half the ration before slipping it back into her pack. Lessa needed the nutrients more than he.

He was growing thinner. He didn't need a looking glass to know that. It was his body. He could feel himself getting weak, frail. However, it didn't matter to him. None of it mattered. Not when Hawke was going through it as well.

A freezing wind bit into his skin. Rubbing his arms, attempting to create friction to warm him, Anders stared into the bright fire. He and Hawke were fugitives. They were wanted for crimes against the Chantry, for murder and it was all his fault.

"Anders?"

Her voice was soft, barely discernible. Lessa's wide eyes watched him warily, almost as if he was a rabid dog that could attack at any moment. He took in her appearance, the messy hair, the dark circles under her eyes, the delicate features that seemed more obvious with her thinness.

"What is it, love?"

Lessa sat up, the blanket that had covered her falling to the space beside her. "Have you slept yet tonight?"

Wearily, Anders reached up and rubbed his chin. His fingers met the rough hair of the beard that had grown in. They had been running for too long. "Lessa? Did I make a mistake?"

Hawke appeared to be confused at first. Her eyes widened slightly as she understood what he meant and then with a small chuckle, she left the comfort of her makeshift bedroll and found a spot beside him to sit. Slipping her calloused hand in his, she leaned her head on his shoulder, something they used to do in bed after a long day of hunting down bandits and blood mages in Kirkwall. "There might have been a better way to start the war, Anders, but do I regret being beside you now? Never."

Anders shifted uneasily, but her head never left its spot on his shoulder. "How can you say that? People died. I _killed_ people, Lessa."

"So have I. That doesn't change that something needed to be done." Lessa stated, her voice sure and strong. "If I didn't believe in your cause, Anders, I wouldn't have left with you."

"It was my fault that you had to leave. You had to abandon your home because of me."

Hawke lightly laughed. Her lips found his scruffy cheek, a smile playing on her red lips. "_You_ are my home, Anders."

The words made Anders feel somewhat human again. After so long a time away from other people, with just Hawke for company, it had begun to wear on him. But this woman loved him, for ill or well, and he thanked the Maker that he had one person left that he could count on.


End file.
